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It took some (read: a lot) of convincing before Court was alright with Dave preening his wings.
The wings were tattered, unsheathed pin feathers sticking out everywhere. And they honestly didn’t really have a long term solution for clothing for Court besides his harness and the backless shirts that one of the crew members had brought along.
Carefully, Dave took in the state of Court's wings. Overall the plumage was dull and brittle looking. There was a lack of oils that explained why so many of the barbs were split or strained. The feathers interlocked the way a broken mirror would, all sharp edges and begging to break over and over and over again.
Now there wasn't any dirt or blood obviously visible–luckily Court had cleaned himself up pretty well but that didn't mean there couldn't be blood or debris hidden deeper in the plumage.
Court's wings were primarily black, with a glossy, iridescent finish. Though it was hard to tell exactly because of how washed out and dull the colors were. A clear sign of lack of nutrition or care.
Dave did not have wings, but he had done an extreme amount of research for this moment. He knew that Court wouldn’t feel comfortable if he groomed him like a cat; that and the fact that wings had specific ways that they needed to be tended to that he couldn’t accomplish with his tongue. Maybe one day Court would let him groom him with his tongue. But that day wasn’t today and he needed to make sure that Court was the most comfortable here. Even if his inner self whined at the inability to groom him and make him smell like him. Dave didn’t know how Court would react to being rubbed against and marked, and he did not want to find out thank you very much.
Making sure that his hands were clean and his nails weren’t sharp, he reached out a hand to the wings, feeling a shiver wrack through the other. He had felt these wings before, when he was dragging an unconscious Court to the medbay. And when he was tending to his wounds. And rolling him on his side so his wings weren’t trapped under him. He had researched wing anatomy so he knew where the gland that secreted protective oils were, at the base of the wings. He would need to press on it, gather the oil on his fingers, and gently spread it on the wings. But first, he had to remove the dead feathers and peel off the keratin coating covering new feathers. His claws would come in handy in removing the keratin. He also had to straighten out the feathers and smooth them out. And make sure that the down feathers didn’t have any grime on them. He had a damp washcloth by him in case he had to wipe down the wings. He had checked with Court, who said it was okay.
Running his hands through the feathers like you might do to your hair, he came across a patch of tangled feathers. Carefully prying them apart, he combed through each one, straightening the bent ones and removing the dead feathers. A pile of them slowly grew next to him. Dave had no idea what to even do with the wings, maybe study them (though he was an engineer, not a scientist so he didn’t really know even what experiments he could do with the feathers) or turn them into jewelry and decor (Court had a necklace with a real crow feather so they could probably make decorations and jewelry from the feathers).
He pulled off the keratin sheaths and set them aside to be disposed of later. Massaging at the base of the wings, the oil quickly covered his fingers. He gently spread it on the feathers, making sure to spread it evenly and work it in good.
The feeling of Dave’s hands running through his wings, claws gently tugging out dead feathers and spreading protective oils, it was a luxury Court had lost after the Quiet Rapture. A low purr had started up from the other’s chest. That was right, Dave was a nekomimi, a type of kemonomimi. A catboy, as the other liked to joke. He could feel his tail swish against the bed, clearly happy. The tail, alongside the ears, often gave away just what emotions the engineer was feeling in the specific moment. It was nice to have something that clearly expressed emotions to him. Court had never been good with emotions.
Court felt a coo slip past his lips. He instantly tensed up, hating that instinctive part of him that had emerged after the blood ocean.
"Hey," Dave started slowly, musing as he tended to the damaged wings. "You can make vocalizations. I don't mind. Honest," He sounded so fucking sincere too. A sincerity he had never heard, beyond his mother and the twins.
Court blinked blearily. Dave’s hands were so soft. So careful. So thoughtful. Thumbing over quills, smoothing down plumage, rubbing oils at the base of each feather. Another shiver racked through him.
His eyes felt wet. His chest loose and tight. He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. Slowly, he let his mind wander, to open skies and warm breezes under his wings. A breeze he’d never get to feel. He knew that Dave had turned around for Katie before he had appeared in their airlock. And he had to slowly watch Dave starve because he was giving up his food for him.
He didn’t deserve this kindness. He had appeared in their airlock, called Dave an angel, and promptly passed out. And then Dave had been so willing to tear into his clothes for him, cut slits for his wings that he had been blessed cursed with. But to his relief, one of the other crewmates had brought on some backless shirts that he could wear; and the wings were thankfully not that big that they were uncomfortably obstructed if he wore a normal shirt.
But the wings weren’t the only changed part about him. His lower legs had been transformed into talons and he had feathers everywhere. Basically where he would normally have body hair, there were feathers. There were small feathers on his shoulder blades, hip bones, neck, cheeks, and even a couple in his hair. He also had small wings on the sides of his head. Not to mention how sharp his teeth were. He had already nicked his tongue twice in the past hour. These mutations seemed to have been created purely for him to suffer. But the crazy lower body strength was a plus in the sea of cons. He bet that if they were on a planet, the strength would come in handy in lifting off.
But he preferred using it to catch Katie’s hamster ball whenever she rolled around too much and holding Dave. A few days after he had woken up, the nekomimi had explained his parasomnia and how he needed to sleep in restraints so he wouldn’t harm himself or mess anything up in the ship. Court had been horrified and had volunteered to be the “restraints” for him. It meant that 1. Katie didn’t have to split her senses to watch over the both of them as she could watch them in the same room, and 2. Both of them could satisfy the craving of human touch. He knew how it felt to be pinned down, restrained, and he knew the feeling of a warm, alive body would comfort Dave. The other two crew members had died on the journey, and from what he could tell, Dave’s last moments on Earth—god he couldn’t believe that Earth was still alive—weren’t good ones. How the Garden of Eden could be so cruel confounded Court. But then again, they were desperate, and desperate people did horrible actions. He was a first hand witness of this.
Many people had starved at Eden, their bodies being composted to the Last Tree. And yet Court was given another serving of lentils as others went mad with hunger, making sure that their perfect little soldier had the strength to fight. And after Filament, he had spent some time in prison, before the blasted COI looked at him and decided he’d be better as a soldier. That’s what he was to the both of them, a dog sent to tear into the flesh of the innocents and gnaw on their bones. Nothing more than a tool to defile. Even now he defiled the very things he touched. Dave had been nothing but generous to his sinner self. When he had awoken in the medical bay and freaked out, the nekomimi had called him down, soothing him with his purrs. And when he figured out that he couldn't understand him, he spoke in their shared language, English, and had even reprogrammed the translator for him. He was nothing but a blood soaked sinner while Dave was such an angel that in their first meeting, Court had called him one, believing that Dave was an angel sent to bring him to Heaven, or maybe to taunt him as he was dragged down to Hell by the cold, boney hands of judgement. And even now, the crow hybrid wasn’t still fully convinced that this was real; that this was all a lie. He didn't deserve the mercy granted to him.
“All done,” a voice behind him chirped. It seemed that while he was zoned out, Dave had finished with his wings. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to preen your head feathers, so I left those alone,” Dave continued. Court leaned back, a silent okay for him to continue preening. The feeling of warm hands, hands that had sweet, lifegiving blood rush under the delicate skin, he would never tire from it. Dave scooted back a little so Court’s head was in his lap, carefully running his clawed hands along Court’s cheeks and carding them through his hair. He knew that Dave would never intentionally harm him with those claws, he trusted him enough. The low rumble of a purr deep inside the other’s chest was enough to satisfy his squawking thoughts.
In a few minutes, they were all done, and for real this time. Dave stood up and collected the feathers, smoothing out a few wrinkles from his shirt as well. He waved a goodbye to a relaxed Court and left the room. Court laid down on the bed, opening the Kindle that Dave had given him. Currently, he was in the middle of a book called the Flying Flamingo Sisters. Perhaps him and the twins could have been like this in another life, in a life where they survived.